Chapter 14

And they were alive. Harry instantly cast a shield, which broke after Pierre's first three spells landed. Fuck, he cast quickly, Harry thought.

Shields on shields, walls, a flock of birds, a huge water bubble - Harry cast defensive measures as quick as Pierre continued his onslaught, leaving him unable to fight back. Twenty seconds in and Harry still hadn't cast a spell in anger, his teeth gritting as one Cutter found its way through, slicing his arm.

In the background, he could hear someone commentating, and the 'Ooh' from the crowd.

Harry spat out blood, spotting a chandelier above.

He was Harry fucking Potter, and he wasn't going to lose to this French prick. A cutting charm and the chandelier fell in a massive crash of glass.

Pierre's swearing told Harry he'd bought himself some time, and he quickly conjured a giant Boa snake. "Bite that fuck." Harry whispered, his tongue slithering and hissing as he spoke.

The snake would be dissected in seconds, but seconds was all he needed. Another Serpensortia conjured a tiny snake, imbuing an Avis with some of his willpower created a flock of angry birds. So far, so 'First Year' at Hogwarts, but he wasn't done. He murmured Imperio, taking control of one of the birds, which scooped up the tiny snake and deliberately broke formation with the Avis flock, which was promptly incinerated by the Frenchman.

His Imperio'd bird flew unnoticed, above the crowd, before dropping the snake well behind Du Pont.

"Is that all you've got, boy? Those are first year spells!" Pierre mocked. An acid taste on Harry's tongue was the first clue, and then the next was Pierre's sudden Bubble Head charm, cast on himself - Pierre had cast a huge toxic cloud on the arena, poison in the air. A Caterwauling Charm started an awful shrieking sound, messing with his ability to think.

But he didn't need to think.

He recognised this tactic.

A toxic cloud over the duelling arena, followed by a Confringo - fire and a toxic cloud, a great way to make a big explosion that, if it didn't kill you, definitely ended the duel. Pierre wasn't pulling his punches.

Luckily, Harry knew the counter. Tom had dated an Italian witch once, who'd fancied herself an opera singer in the magical community of Rome. She used an old off-shoot of Sonorus, which instead of amplifying one's voice, massively increased your air intake briefly. Great for opera singers, useless for everyone else. Except now.

He cast it on his throat and breathed deeply, consuming all of the toxic cloud into his mouth. A wandless Anapneo stopped him from breathing it in past his throat, keeping it in his mouth - it was meant to stop people from choking, but it would do nicely here.

And then, the final course. He held his wand upright, standing still in the air, casting a localized Incendio upwards, so his wand held up a big flame, like holding a lighter or a match. Pierre's eyebrows rose. Harry winked at him.

And then he breathed the cloud out as hard as he could, through his wand-flame, breathing a torrential gout of blue fire straight at Pierre, the heat so hot Harry could feel it dry his skin.

Now.

Pierre made to cast a shield, only, as his words formed, he was bitten on the ankle by Harry's Imperio'd little snake. A poisonous little snake that would impair Pierre's movement.

The duellist was enveloped in smoke, disappearing from view, but his shriek of pain told everyone that Harry's flamebreath had landed.

Don't get up, you French fuck. Harry wished, gasping for breath as he finally expelled all of the toxic cloud.

The smoke dissipated and Pierre stepped out. He held in front of him a shaky shield, his tuxedo burnt to a crisp, showing his burnt flesh in some places. His eyebrows were burnt off, his hair smoldering with tiny little flames. He looked mad, his face red with rage, spittle flying from his tongue.

Pierre wasted no time, opening into a complex casting barrage, five arm motions somehow creating fifteen different spells. It was a unique spellcast, clearly designed to maximise spell output, and Harry had to do more than just shield, dropping to the floor as his shield broke under the barrage.

But Pierre had been busy in the meantime, enlarging a pebble into a stone and then Transfiguring it into a stone golem, just like the one Harry had used in the Room of Requirerment to show off. Only it was about twice as big, and it looked a lot more sturdy, with disconcerting arms and legs smashing through the Delacour's floor.

"Piertotum Locomotor." Pierre's voice sounded, and Harry winced as he knew what the spell did. Sure enough, the statues that lined up against the wall came to life. Jean's grandfather, a military man holding a sword, suddenly animated, movements jerky, a stop-motion doll given oxygen. Beside him, a Veela statue, naked and fearless, started walking.

"Fuck." Harry muttered, his return spells meant to destroy them simply getting shielded by Pierre. Now he faced a golem, two statues and Pierre himself.

He couldn't match him, not with his current magical power, so he had to change the environment.

"Deprimo." Harry growled, the spell smashing a big gouge in the floor. A quick Obscuro blind-folded the golem, Du Pont too busy protecting Harry's simultaneous attack on the statues. Sorry, Jean, Harry thought, looking at the huge hole in the ground. The blindfolded golem tripped into the hole, its legs trapped, even as its arms and head tried unsuccessfully to pull itself up - it was too heavy. Still, the statues came for him, easily jumping over the hole, all the while Pierre kept up a constant barrage of spells on him.

Harry hissed - he needed to buy time. With a wave of his hand, the red velvet curtains pulled from the walls, a Duro turning the fabric to stone. Now he had huge stone walls, he banished them at Pierre with as much as force as he could.

With a second bought, he cast two Sectumsempra's on the statues, ripping them to stone pieces.

But he'd waited too long, and the stone curtains hadn't bought him as much time as he thought. Through the smoky debris of the rock curtains, a fiery spear flung through, burying itself in Harry's shoulder.

"Argh!" Harry yelled in agony as his left arm went dead, flopping uselessly at his side, his whole left shoulder completely impaled by a two foot spear.

Fuck this. It was time to end this, he thought. He was struggling. He knew thousands of spells, wisps of memories of arm movements and incantations, but they needed power. Real power, which he didn't have. Mass transfiguration. Conjuration. Runic circles. Animation. Spell-combinations. All he could do was cast Hogwarts spells, and use his knowledge, his memories of duels, to pull some parlor tricks. He didn't even have the speed. For every spell Harry cast, Pierre cast five.

But, Harry thought, there was one spell which didn't require power. It required enormous willpower, and the skill and experience to control it, to not fear it. It was a spell that Tom had mastered five times over — and had learned not to fear.

Harry pulled a fancy rug from behind Pierre wandlessly, one trick that Pierre couldn't really defend against, since he couldn't see anything being cast. It enveloped him, tunneling him in, buying Harry time to mutter the incantation.

"Fiendfyre."

The air sucked out of the room. People screamed. The inferno unleashed with a roaring noise, a gigantic snake appearing in the flame, towards Harry.

"No." Harry said, his jaw set. The flame turned towards Pierre, threatening to jump off, licking at the spectators. Harry held it firm with his wand, sweat pouring down his forehead, the heat torching all the moisture from his skin.

Let me kill them all.

"No." Tom had made Fiendfyre his bitch, had controlled it, tamed it, like none before him. And what Tom could do, Harry could do too.

He corralled the flames around Pierre, but he was losing them, the flames itching for blood, itching to kill. They fed on his hatred, his distaste, his want to win.

"No." Harry repeated, and yanked his wand down, cancelling the Fiendfyre. They disappeared mournfully, but Pierre was left alive, face pale.

"Oppugno." Harry murmured.

For a second, nothing, the fight paused, the audience shocked. And then Pierre cried out in rage, charging forward, holding his wand like a sword, high above his head.

Pierre jumped the hole in the ground, only he never landed, his ankle caught. He looked down in confusion, only to see his ankle held in a firm grip by his own golem. Oppugno, he realized, just a simple spell that caused something to attack someone else. It shouldn't have worked, but it had - it had taken his golem from him, the golem he'd thought out of the fight, the golem he'd let his control slip from.

The golem smashed him down into the ground, so hard his ears rung. Pierre's vision swam. He heard a mutter, in the distance.

"Reverso." Reverso? He thought dizzily. Reverse what? A spear impaled him in the chest, knocking him back, blood spurting from his mouth as he stared up at the ornate ceiling, covered in a painting of Merlin, mighty and covered in blood. His last thought was that it looked a little like Harry Potter.

Harry stared down at Du Pont, his vision swimming. He should have lost that duel - he'd been outclassed, massively. He'd won only because of the man's arrogance and because of Fiendfyre - Du Pont hadn't expected him to be mad enough to cast it in a duel. Tom's memories had granted him understanding of duel tactics and a fierce reckless confidence, but he still had a long way to go. He'd even had to cheat, using Unforgivables, to get one of his birds to carry his poisonous snake across the room and behind Du Pont - without that early shot, that early bite on the man's ankle, he would have been a lot more mobile.

The ball room lay in shreds, the very floorboards burnt to ashes, licks of flame still lighting up here and there, searching for life. The runes that should have contained the duel had long since died, and the crowd watched in shocked silence, standing considerably further away than where they started. A moment, and then they erupted in roars.

"'Arry!" Fleur came bowling at him, and he hissed in agony as his shoulder's nerves lit up, a thousand different ways to say 'pain'. "You did it. Zat was the most amazing thing I 'ave ever seen!"

Harry gave her a tired smile, his arm around her waist. Merlin, she was beautiful, her eyes wide in excitement, her tits bouncing in that flimsy dress. She smelled like vanilla and oak trees, and he buried his head in her hair, that voluminous hair that buried to be explored. He let his hand drop a little, squeezed her close and breathed her in, because he'd won an impossible duel, and he felt like taking some fucking liberties.

"How about I show you something else amazing?" He murmured, pushing forward, so she could feel his undeniable hardness. He'd been hard the whole fight - one of Tom's less desired predilections.

She bit her lip, but she was smiling, a glint in her eyes as she was pulled away, as Harry was slapped on the back and congratulated by the rushing crowd.

"Incroyable!"

"I have no words, it was art! You must visit the Chateau this summer!"

"A beautiful duel, Lord Potter."

Someone had Rennervated Du Pont and he stuck his hand out and gave Harry's a single shake, a grim look on his face. He disappeared out of the crowd, head held high, looking down his nose. But then the crowd parted, and Harry saw only the Princess, looking like an angelic, hair trailing on the floor behind her. She walked like a bride, slow and sensual, because she knew all eyes were on her. They always had been.

Her purple cloak covered her almost fully, but Harry didn't need to see her figure to know she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. He could write three rolls of parchment on her hair alone, how it shimmered like white gold, how blonde was insufficient to describe it, how individual strands fell over her face, how he longed to sweep it over her ears.

And then she spoke, her voice like honey.

"An impressive spectacle, Lord Potter. I must insist you visit us at the Veela Court in the next few weeks. You seek allies, and us Veela are always keen in meeting new faces...particularly ones that demonstrate such," She paused. "Decisiveness, as you."

"It would be an honor." Harry replied simply. I am going to drown you in so much cum it streams from your nostrils, he thought. Was he a sick fuck? Was that a Tom thought? Harry looked at her again, and decided that the old Harry would also want to fuck her til she passed out.

Her smile turned from regal to teasing, as her eyes lowered, taking in his impressive bulge. "I see that we share the same appetites for power and victory."

Harry didn't blush, blood still rushing to his head and to his cock. He'd fuck them all, breed them and leave them begging for more. "I just like proving people wrong, especially those with such pride."

She took the collateral damage of the small jab with ease, tilting her head. "Pride is a dangerous emotion -- I shall try to ease Lord Du Pont's anger, such that he does not take any frustration out on you." She paused and shook her head. "I still cannot believe it. Du Pont is the best duellist in France."

"Not for a few hours yet." He shot a side glance to Fleur, who was watching their byplay silently. "Or perhaps the night."

Fleur flushed red, but she met Sophia's eyes challengingly.

Princess Sophia's nostrils flared, seeing herself dismissed for another woman. Still, her smile didn't leave her face. "Enjoy your half-Veela, Lord Potter. Like I said, the full experience is something else entirely." She leaned forward, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and turned to leave. As she walked away, knowing all her eyes were on her, she unlatched her cloak, the purple velvet fluttering the floor. With a slow roll of her head, her absurdly long hair was over her shoulder, on her front, revealing her back.

The Back. Her back was a smooth expanse of luscious flesh, completely bare from her neck to her bottom, dressed as she was in a backless satin gold dress. It was so backless it revealed the very top of her ass, just a hint of her peachy bum before it was covered by gold satin, the satin stretched by her bubble butt, her ass mounds protruding through the fabric.

Sophia glanced over her shoulder, smirking at Harry. And then, with a shrug of her shoulder, her dress fell to the floor and pooled, along with her hair. Her behind defied description, pert, perky, perfect, under her dimples of Venus.

Completely naked, she stopped only as she passed Jean Delacour, raising her voice to speak and be heard by the silent crowd. "The Veela Court will of course pay for all damages. Please send the invoices to the Court. Forgive my little indiscretion, I should not have encouraged Lord Du Pont."

Jean had enough about him to accept and waive off her apology, and then she was gone and Harry could only let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. What a woman.

Fleur's hand reached to his arm, to remind him of her, and she gave him a red wine glass with a tremulous smile. She was, he realized, a little unsure how to act now he'd essentially told the Princess of her whole society that he was going to be spending the night seeding the spoiled French cocktease. Fleur was probably more comfortable playing the teenage coquette than actually getting fucked.

Thankfully, for her, her father saved her.

"A mighty duel, Harry. Join me in my study and I'll have a healer look at your shoulder while we talk business, if you like. I'd imagine after a fight like that, you're wanting to get to bed."

Harry shot him a look, but Jean's face remained inscrutable. Was the man unaware or uncaring that Harry was going to spend the night fucking his daughter into her mattress?

Harry fought his way through the crowd of well-wishes, past the back-claps and cheers of Jules, Hugo and co, until he found himself in Jean's study. The study was small, a cosy environment of dark wood-panelling and well-worn armchairs. Around the edges were bottles of what seemed like every drink that had ever been invented, and the room smelt like many a fine cigar had been smoked under its ceiling.

Jean caught Harry's surprised look. "My wife designed the rest of the house, but my study is my own."

"It's great." Harry said truthfully. "I need to make a place like this is in my house."

"You haven't already?"

"I haven't even got a house, yet." Harry laughed. "Potter Manor is in a little disrepair after so many years without anyone living in it. I have a friend cleaning it up for me."

"You should get involved. When you do-it-yourself, it feels a thousand times more rewarding."

"Perhaps." Harry held his hand up to stop Jean's generous pouring of the wine bottle. "But honestly, I don't have the time. The war is coming, and I'm at the forefront."

Jean sipped his wine. "I've heard the same from my contacts in England."

"At the Ministry?"

"And beyond."

Harry gave him an inscrutable look. How far did his contacts extend?

"Is there any support for a war in France?"

Jean sighed. "We have our own problems. With the integration of the Veela in French magical society, we are much more accepting of magical creatures. But that brings its own set of problems. Why can we offer shelter and rights to Veela, but not to the giants, or the mermaids, or the sirens?"

Harry sat his glass down. "These frustrations are the ones Voldemort will seek to exploit."

"Anti-creature fervor or the equal rights campaign?"

"Whichever one is more populist." Harry said shortly. "He doesn't care for anything but power. Maybe even both. France needs to be ready. The war will reach your shores."

Jean looked at him skeptically. "Are you sure? It hasn't even really started in England yet. Just an attack or two does not make a war."

"Trust me. I know how he operates." Not for the first time, Harry wished he could share how he knew such things. But that was too dangerous. Tom's memories had to go with him until his grave, or he'd be feared until he was hunted to death. And Tom would know Harry was more equal to him than he previously believed.

"He will have made overtures to the Giants, in Switzerland, already." Harry continued. "And he'll have allies in Durmstrang already. It would be foolish to believe he's not already made some inroads into French society."

Jean scowled. "France is not Britain. He will find no friends in our government, in Beauxbatons, or in the Veela Enclave."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Not a single angry, well-placed soul, in any position of power in France?"

The older man ran his finger across his forehead, above his bushy white eyebrows, like he was trying to unwrinkle skin that had long since wrinkled.

"Your point is well made, Harry. I shall investigate, see what I can find."

Harry raised his glass. "That's all I can ask. But I will return, one day, to ask for wands to fight beside me."

"It is a great ask for a Frenchman to fight in a war that does not concern him."

Harry smiled thinly. "Then I will return when the war has reached your shores, and your concerns are great."

"Let us hope, for the both of us, that it does not get that far."

"I'll drink to that." Harry finished his glass, sighing with contentment. The French really did have incredible wine.

After a moment's silence, Jean coughed, looking uncomfortable. "You really mean to go to the Veela Court?"

"I do."

"They are...difficult. Your negotiations will be...what is the word for it - I only know the French word. Transactionnelle?"

"I know what you mean." Harry laughed. "That's okay. I'm willing to pay, whatever it takes." Whatever it takes to bend that French princess over her throne and fuck her ass until his cum seeped from her abused hole, he mused.

"Speaking of difficult Veela," Jean murmured, rising from his chair as he spotted a shadow underneath his door. "Fleur! Get in here."

Fleur entered the study guiltily, her face flushed, hair mussed sexily. She'd refreshed her makeup. In the cosy study, away from the glamor of the party, her little dress seemed even more risque, rising up her thighs, her sizable tits almost spilling out.

"Sorry, Papa. But the party is finishing and 'Arry must say goodbye to my friends."

To Harry, it looked like Jean stopped himself from rolling her eyes. Who would have Veela daughters? "Then I shall say Au Revoir, Harry. I'll look into the matter we spoke about, and write you a letter. If you can keep me updated on matters in Britain, I shall see that France raises its walls."

"I shall. Thank you Jean." Harry shook his hand, hiding his grimace as the older man's hands tightened. With a Veela wife and two Veela daughters, he wouldn't be naive about what was happening, even if he had to come to terms with it. You couldn't stop a Veela.

Out of the study, Fleur led him by the hand excitedly, through grand corridors and up a staircase that shifted as they climbed, the wooden steps creaking as the stairs reoriented them higher higher. How big was their Chateau? It seemed like they were going into the rafters.

"Papa made the steps creak to stop me from sneaking out." Fleur confessed, shooting him a guilty smile.

"I'm sure that worked." Harry's lips twitched. "Where are we going? The party's not up here."

Fleur waved her hand airily. "Everyone important left ages ago." Reaching the top of the stairs, she drew him into her, cocking her leg behind her, her high heel dropping off her feet. "I thought we could 'ave our own party."

Harry ran her hand up her leg, up her thigh, letting his magic envelop her as she leaned in for a kiss. He met her lips hungrily, devouring her. She tasted sweet, like ripe clementines, and their tongues battled for dominance. After a minute, she pulled back, breathing heavily, her lips swelling.

"'Arry! Where was this man a year ago? Your magick, mmm," She kissed him ardently, pushing him away as he tried to move across to her neck. "No play yet, darling 'arry."

Harry found himself in a large room, decked out with loungers and sofas and a pulsing, crackling fireplace. Against the back of the room, beside the biggest French windows Harry had ever seen, was a giant bed. Whereas Narcissa's bed was a stereotypical woman's bed, with too many throws, pillows, blankets, artfully arranged, Fleur's was a single thin white sheet, a messy unmade bed. She saw his gaze.

"The nights are too 'ot," Fleur explained, pouring him a large glass of wine. Harry had already drank too much, but she pushed it into his hands. "And I sleep naked."

With that, she dropped the shoulder-straps of her dress off and let her dress fall to the floor, completely naked.

Merlin, she was divine. A work of art, Harry thought idly as he gaped, unable to keep his cool. Her large blue eyes gleamed triumphantly as he took her in and she played a tussle of her waist-length silvery-blonde idly as she posed for his gaze, because of course she knew had to wait for his amazement to fade away. Her long swan neck, the pronounced collarbone, the full, perky, gravity-defying tits, the impossibly thin waist. The swelling hips, because Veela were made for sex. And then, her pussy, wet, a slit hiding between her plump outer labia.

She giggled and turned for his gaze, arching her back and presenting her peachy, perfect bottom, too large for such a slim girl, too thick for a girl that could otherwise make a pretense at nobility, with her sharp features and slim body - but these were the wonders of magic. Those long legs were the talk of Hogwarts, since that damnable Beuxbatons skirt rose and flitted up and flashed with every step. In the winter, she'd worn white, glimmering, pantyhose, and the photos had been circulated to every boys dorm.

The most sexy thing about her, though, was her confidence. She stood there, unashamed, knowing her own astonishing beauty. Owning it.

"Incroyable." Harry muttered, his mouth dry. He took a gulp of his wine, her smile spreading.

"Merci, Arry." Fleur curtseyed with an invisible skirt. "Now, darling Arry," She stalked forward and pushed him back until he sat on the edge of her bed, a little shocked. "I am going to be the dirty," She paused, and with a shake of her head, waved her hair behind her, smiling at him as he watched it like she was in slow motion. She had beautiful hair. "French." She paused again, waving her wand at a record player he hadn't seen, which began to play a sultry, slow jazz, like a cabaret club in the war. "Veela." She puckered her lips and sank to her knees in front of him, into the thick shaggy cream carpet. "The one from your dreams. I will suck your cock and you are going to be a good boy and drink your wine? Oui?"

Harry could spend his whole life listening to her pronouncing the word cock. It was delightful.

Regaining his composure, he could only muster a hesitant smile. "If you insist."

She laughed and pulled down his robes. "Why do men always try to be cool, Arry? Why can't you - mon dieu!" She said in shock as she saw his cock. "Merde. What ze fuck?"

She took it in her hands, stunned. "I knew you had power, but zis, zis is not possible…" She trailed off. She put her forearm up against it and bit her lip as she saw Harry's cock was bigger. "Arry, arry," She grinned up at him suddenly, the cat that got the canary. "You 'ave been hiding too many secrets." She sniffed. "'Owever, I have secrets of my own."

Harry groaned as her tongue trailed his cockhead, teasingly. He didn't need teasing - he was already rockhard, and Fleur slurped some precum that ran down his cock. Her noises were loud, theatrical, as she lapped and slurped until his cock was wet with her saliva.

"For example, did you know I can do...magic? Look, it will disappear." Fleur smirked at him, her hands jerking up and down, both hands engaged. Then, suddenly, she sank her head down on his cock, glugging and gurgling as she deep-throated him, her wet mouth and tight throat sinking slowly, painfully slowly, until she pressed a teasing kiss to his groin, his cock completely enveloped.

Harry's eyes went wide, his vision swimming a little as he watched her take all of his huge cock. She really was magic.

Her tongue wrapped around him, and it was like he was caught by a vine - her control of it was incredible, her tongue almost jacking him off, then suddenly tracing the big vein up his cock, her throat's heat unbelievable, the wetness almost causing him to cum right there. Her hands on his thigh, she bobbed up and down, the glurking and slobbering noises incredibly erotic to him. Her eyes looked up at him as he held her hair up, and Harry could only gape stupidly as she winked at him from the base of his cock, her throat bulging.

Veela really were a class apart, Harry thought in amazement, as she rose off his cock, breathing heavily but smiling widely. A strand of saliva stretched from his cock to her lips and Fleur swiped up with a little moue of her lips, sucking it down.

"Mmm, Arry, you taste fantastique. I cannot get enough." Fleur descended once more onto his cock, slurping and lapping at the copious precum oozing from his cock. She showed him the globules of his spunk she'd collected from his cockhead on her tongue and then swallowed with a smile. "Pure magic. You are a powerful wizard, Arry."

Merlin, just the way she said his name made him want to cum. She was unravelling him.

And then she was gone, getting the wine bottle and pouring him another glass, pressing it into his hand.

"Zis is the life, non?" She smiled at him as she sank to her knees again. "Now be a good boy and cum down my throat, oui?"

Before he could answer, she'd slobbered down his cock again, showing off with the way she could easily throat it. She then began the most incredible ten minutes of Harry's life, as she gave him the full show. The wine was getting to him, the heat of the room incredible, but all he knew was that he never wanted this to stop. She pressed kisses to his groin as she reached his base, she slurped at his cockhead, she slid her tongue of his cock, wrapped her lips tight around him. She fucked him with her mouth, looking up at her with those teasing blue eyes, her hands massaging his big balls, or rubbing his thighs. She gobbled his cock until his balls were boiling over.

She could sense it. "Are you going to cum down my poor leetle throat, big 'Arry?" She teased, jacking his cock.

"And all over that pretty face of yours." Harry moaned, out of his mind.

"Mmm, give me all of zat cum." And then she went wild, bobbing her head at a rapid pace, making loud obscene glugging noises, her lips tight around his cock. It was no wonder they'd had to give her a whole floor to herself. It was all too much for him.

He grabbed her head and held her down as he roared, his cum spraying down her throat, huge ropes of cream shooting out, coating her throat. She swallowed, eyes wide in shock and even a little fear, as the cum kept shooting, his hand firm on her head. Even as she swallowed, felt his creamy hot cum enter her, felt herself ingest his magic, she felt like it would never end, just a constant hose of delicious cum. And then, he withdrew, making her moan in disappointment as she had her cock, her cum that she'd earned, taken away from her, until she opened her eyes and his cock drenched her face, load after load, rope after rope, dousing every part of her skin.

His hands found hers and he directed her, blindly, to his cock, letting her continue the jerking as he held her head in place, his moans music to her ears as she jerked the last of his sprays onto her face. Mon Dieu, what the fuck was he made of, she thought in amazement. It was in her hair, and her face was absolutely covered, like she'd been bukkake'd, like one of the poor women in those videos that her and Marie watched, giggling. She swallowed the load in her mouth slowly, savoring the taste and the inherent magic inside.

"Oh, fuck." Harry muttered and fell back on the bed, the empty wine glass crashing to the floor. Instantly, he started snoring, letting out cute little exhales from his nose.

"Mmm," Fleur ran a finger through her face, taking just a little of the hot load onto her lips. Her drugged wine took longer to take effect than she thought it would. She rose to her feet, sighing in satisfaction as she saw herself in the mirror. It was not just any witch that could take a cock like that, she thought, blowing a kiss to herself in the mirror with her cummy lips. She couldn't wait to tell Marie.

"Sorry, 'Arry." She said, feeling a little guilty as she tucked him into bed. "I cannot 'ave you taking my purity." She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together. The Veela was desperate to wake him and have him fuck her until the sun rose, have him shoot his load deep inside her, again and again. The Veela part of her wanted to submit, wanted that pleasure, wanted to bathe in his seed, wanted to prostrate herself and lap at his balls forever. But with long practice, Fleur shoved it down. The Veela society hadn't come as far as they had by fucking every single eligible bachelor.

There were rules. Expectations.

Veela had power because they were placed behind, and often underneath, men of power. They were positioned, encouraged to seduce, sometimes even gifted, to whoever could best represent the interests of Veela. Government politicians, magical creatures, political revolutionaries, bankers, Goblins - it was no secret that Veela were the whores of the wizarding world, but what few knew was how careful they were, how Machiavellian. Her mother had been selected to be her father's wife, and that granted her great power and respect in the Veela society. Her father represented the Veela interests, and importantly, showed that Veela could be the wives of major public figures. In return, his political campaigns had powerful support by the Veela — and importantly, all the powers whose ears were whispered into by seductive Veela tongues.

Fleur stared down at Harry, absently wiping some of the thick glaze that threatened to drip down into her just-cleaned eyes. He was powerful, that much was obvious. But she couldn't fuck him, not without the authorization of the Veela Council. They might have greater plans for him.

Because of her name, her beauty, her family's wealth, Fleur's virginity was one of the most precious in the Veela society, and despite how much she hated the Princess, Fleur still had to comply.

Fleur ran a finger down to her wet slit, moaning as she felt how soaked she was, her fingers rubbing against her clit. Fuck, she wanted to get fucked so bad.

She had to keep her virginity, she reminded herself.

Veela virginities' were even more precious than witches' - once they lost it, they had a small potential to mind-bond, becoming submissive fuckwhores for their partner even more than they often were, the Veela society word and will becoming unimportant to them in comparison to their partners, their Master's will.

Not always did they bond, and not often, but sometimes, enough to scare them. Her mother had never bonded, even with the respect she held for her husband. The Veela Council would want to evaluate Harry for sure, though, and as Fleur slipped a couple of fingers into her sodden snatch, she fantasised about being gifted to him.

They'd want to see just how much power he held, first - there was no point in placing him with a Veela if he was going to get killed by Voldemort the next week.

With her other hand, she scooped some of his cum-ropes off her face and into her mouth, her eyes closed as she felt the hot delicious seed ran down her throat.

"Fuck," She trembled as she came, slowly ceasing her ministrations on her clit. She glanced over at the comatose wizard.

"You, Monsieur Potter, are going to be a lot of trouble."

Fleur cleaned herself up, dressed, and left the room. It wouldn't do to be there when he woke up. He'd want to fuck her senseless and she might not be able to resist temptation.

She never noticed her mother, hiding in the shadows of her doorway, under a Disillusionment Charm, her eyes wide with astonishment.